


Hermit Shale

by filenotch



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filenotch/pseuds/filenotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set about 20 years after the final episode. John Sheppard drops off the radar, and Rodney finds him.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"You've got to tell me what happened to him."</i></p><p>  <i>"Him?" </i></p><p>  <i>"You of all people should never deliberately pretend to be obtuse," Rodney said, then winced as he realized he'd just paid Sam a compliment, if backhanded. He demanded, "Sheppard. John. Where is he?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hermit Shale

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Beta~~ Beaten into an actual story by ivorygates and tesserae

"Anyway, I think we're getting somewhere, finally," Rodney said, glancing back to the image of John Sheppard's head projecting out of the Skype box next to the computer screen. "And that's a good suggestion."

"Any time. Just try not to let it blow up."

"Right. Coming from you, that's rich. Anyway, there's someone I can put on the project. I may finally have another graduate student that isn't a complete imbecile."

"Which one?"

"Washington. Ah..." said Rodney, blanking on the name.

"Chris," Sheppard said. "Glad to hear it. How's Jennifer?" 

"More like, _Where's Jennifer?_ " Rodney said. 

"I keep telling you to get her a striped shirt."

Rodney snorted. "The _Where's Waldo?_ joke is officially not funny." 

John's head moved as if he were shrugging. "You're the one that keeps making it. So, where is she?"

"Somalia, trying to save another dirt village. She's fine. Satellite signal is good, so we can talk every few nights. I think I talk to you more."

"Yeah, when she's traveling," John said, but before Rodney could react, he said, "Give her my best." Rodney could see John's hand come up and pinch the bridge of his nose. "Look, I need to get going."

"Wait," Rodney said. "You haven't told me anything about how things are there. Especially since you stopped going off--." Rodney stopped himself before he could say _off-world_.

"Desk job. Boring. You know the drill." Rodney couldn't read much in the image of John. Projections weren't that high a pixel value, but he was pretty sure there were lines around John's mouth he hadn't noticed before. 

"Then why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Let yourself get promoted off the gate teams. I miss the vicarious near-death experiences." Rodney reached out to the keyboard to see if he could get the image to show more than just John's head, but John had it set on his side. Rodney glanced back over at the image. John had one corner of his mouth pulled up, and Rodney could only understand the smirk as John covering up something.

"Wondered when you were finally going to ask. Knees, Rodney. They're the first to go."

Before Rodney could call John a liar, a voice yelled from the lab. Rodney glanced to the door and saw sparks. "Oh, now what?"

"You have to go," John said, before Rodney could say anything. Rodney looked at the 3-D of John's head. John's eyes were looking straight at him. The tracking software wasn't usually that good. "So long, Rodney." 

Rodney didn't wait for the image to snap out as he turned and stepped into the lab, bellowing insults.

***

"Hi, it's me," Rodney said to John's vid mail, the tenth time in as many days. "Why haven't you been on line? I wanted to tell you about--" Rodney cut himself off, rubbed his eye under his glasses, remembered the camera was on, and stopped. "Anyway, call me back. Drop me an email. Something." Rodney heard the rise in his voice and thought, _I sound like twelve-year-old girl worried she's been ditched._

***

Rodney looked at the screen as if he couldn't read plain English. What did it mean that user no longer existed? He called Sheppard's cell phone and it went straight to voice mail.

"It's me. Where are you? What are you doing? Why did you cancel your Skype account?" He was angry, not worried.

***

"The number you have reached is no longer in service."

***

"Radek, you have to tell me. He doesn't answer his email, the cell phone number is disconnected, Skype username doesn't exist any more, and even before that he'd stopped returning my calls. No one seems to want to tell me what's going on. Just his best friend, here."

"I do not know, Rodney." The image of Radek projecting from the Skype box scratched a finger behind his ear. "He retired about a month ago. There was not even a party."

"That's about when he stopped talking to me. He didn't say anything about retiring."

"Perhaps he did not want you to know. Do you always call him in a mood like this? He may have chosen also to retire from hearing you complain. I confess that you leaving the program has made my last ten years more enjoyable." 

"Not funny, Radek," Rodney said automatically, but part of him wondered if Radek was right. But, he wasn't like this all the time, was he? He was just fed up with worry over John Sheppard dropping off the map. 

He was surprised at Radek's answer: a sigh. "Actually, it is not funny. There were rumors."

"What kind of rumors? Don't tell me he retired back _there_. I mean, yeah, Teyla told him he'd always be welcome, but they don't have football there."

"Actually, they do. Sheppard taught American football to Jinto and his friends, and it is played with great enthusiasm. I could not interest them in the real game after all that slamming into each other." Radek waited while Rodney snorted, and added, "No, it was much more grim, and I'm sure I'm not supposed to talk about it on an unsecured line."

Rodney didn't say anything for a few moments. "I see." He let his mind race back over the last conversations he'd had with John. He'd seemed tired and maybe a little distracted, but his job had been high pressure. "Mental or medical?"

"I cannot say."

"Come on, Radeck! You cannot hold out on me about this. He's my--" Rodney cut himself off. Radek filled it in.

"Best friend. I know." He sounded sad, or something.

Rodney didn't know what to make of that. "Radek, I'm sorry."

"Do not flatter yourself. I cannot say because I do not know. Even the rumors were not specific." Rodney heard another sigh through the speakers, and he could see Radek's hand in the image, scratching briefly at his hairline. "I am sorry, Rodney."

***

Rodney leaned in to jab at an equation in the viswall, drawing functions with his mouse in the air, red lines in the display trailing his motion. "No, and if you had half a brain you'd know that there is a fundamental difference between a singularity and--"

Rodney stood up straight when his cell phone rang in his ear, and he turned away from his cowering post doc. Very few people had his personal number, and all of them were people who could interrupt him. It wasn't Jennifer. She had programmed his phone to play Ravel's Bolero when she called. He tapped the button on his earpiece. He never told anyone he pretended sometimes it was a headset from Atlantis. "McKay." 

The voice in his ear made the fantasy more acute because it was eerily familiar. "Hi, Rodney."

"Sam?"

"I heard you tried to call."

He was relieved to hear her voice, and his bottled-up worry rushed out. "A few hundred times! You've got to tell me what happened to him."

"Him?"

"You of all people should never deliberately pretend to be obtuse," Rodney said, then winced as he realized he'd just paid her a compliment, if backhanded. He demanded, "Sheppard. John. Where is he?"

"Rodney, if he didn't tell you himself, I don't think I should--"

Rodney cut her off. "Please."

"What?"

He swallowed and lowered his voice. "You heard me. Please."

Sam sounded bemused. "I'm not sure I've ever heard you say that."

"Don't--" Rodney noticed the startled look on his students' and post docs' faces, swallowed and walked out of the lab into his office, where they couldn't hear him. Even so, he kept his back to the door. "I just... miss him. I'm worried." He could feel and hear the break in his voice.

"Rodney," was all Sam said, but he heard something in her voice that was rarely targeted at him. Before Jennifer he wouldn't have known what it was, but he had a word now, and he didn't like it: compassion.

It made him angry, and he snapped at her. "Look, I miss him. And I'm worried. I need to know: Do I need to be worried."

There was a long pause before Sam replied. "I'm not sure worry will do any good."

Rodney sat down in his desk chair as if his legs had given out. "What do you mean?"

Sam paused again, and he was on the verge of repeating himself when she answered. "He started having some physical problems, and decided to retire."

"Knees. He said something about knees. They can rebuild those."

"It's not that, Rodney. It's everything, and they don't know why."

Rodney took a breath before answering. "Where is he?"

"He wanted to be near water, and he is. I can't send you his contact information."

"I can look it up," Rodney said, relieved at having something he could work with.

"No, you can't. I shouldn't have even told you that much."

"What, it's unlisted? I can get around that."

"It's not just unlisted, McKay. It's classified."

That stopped Rodney for a brief moment, and then he fit it together the phrase _it's everything_. "Please don't tell me he's turned back into a bug." He was only half joking.

Sam gave a huff of quiet laughter that made him feel slightly less worried. "Not that. No."

"But you can't tell me what it is, or how to find him."

"No." Sam put regret into the word, enough for Rodney to hear it, and to hear the added note of finality. "How's Jennifer? Is she back home?"

"What? Oh, yes. She keeps trying to save the world, one vaccination at a time."

"It's worth doing, McKay. It all is. Even what you're doing now."

He ignored the dig. "It's all Ronan's fault. His crack about how we didn't have the, you know who, on our planet, and people were starving. Dying." 

"You didn't have to leave, though. I mean leave _there_ , yes, but not the command." 

"Right, because the IOA loved me so much. The academic politics of Chicago are just stupid, and I can ignore them. It's not as bad as being shot at." He shrugged, forgetting she couldn't see him, and said, "Somebody's got to train up the next generation for your project."

"So far, you've given us some good ones. Dr. Panjali is working out quite well. She's just started on a Gate team."

"Thanks," he said, suddenly impatient with small talk. "Thanks for calling back." He thumbed the off switch before she could answer, and sat down at his desk, sitting with his arms half folded and his thumb against his lower lip. 

Where was John? Rodney sat up set up a proxy to an anonymous server and wrote a bot to search California real estate records, looking for all sales of beachfront buildings in a four-month window around the time that John had dropped out of sight. It would have taken prep work, most likely. John wouldn't go to the east coast. He always said the surfing was better in California. 

Rodney set it all to store in a file called striped_shirt.

***

Rodney spat toothpaste and rinsed, standing at his sink. He looked at Jennifer's reflection, a slight bit of foam leaking from her mouth as she brushed her teeth with deliberation, always moving the brush away from the gum in precise movements. Instead of heading toward the bed, he leaned on his hands and said, "I found Sheppard."

She didn't look over, but said around the toothbrush, "I didn't know he was lost."

"I guess I didn't tell you. He stopped answering my emails last month."

Jennifer finished the job, and as she rinsed her toothbrush she said, "You two fight about something?"

"No. He suddenly retired and just dropped out of sight, cancelled his cell phone, the whole thing."

"You didn't tell me."

" _He_ didn't tell me, and I didn't... I mean, it was, didn't seem... At first I thought he was just busy, and the number went dead."

"Did you call Sam?"

"And Radek. He didn't know much except that he'd retired, but Sam got back to me today, and she says his location is classified. She says he's having physical problems."

Jennifer looked at him. "You want me to try to find out?"

Relief Rodney didn't expect flooded through him and he started to babble. "If you can. I'm surprised they didn't consult you first, if it was something from back there." Their connections to the Stargate program had gotten more tenuous as people resigned, or died, but Jennifer still talked with Dr. Lam. Rodney said, "I think I may have figured out what city he's in. Sam Carter said it was classified, but she let it slip that it was beachfront. I've been indexing west coast real estate records and building permits."

"Okay. Okay, I'm sure you'll find him." There was something odd in her voice, but he didn't know what it was.

When they went to bed, she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. It was never a good sign. "Rodney?"

"Yes?" he said, looking over from the journal article he was reviewing on his laptop. 

"I miss you."

"What do you mean? You've been back from Dominica for a week. I'm right here, where I always am."

"Yeah, you're here," she said, slapping at is chest with the back of her hand, "but you're not _here_." She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, circling his ear. 

"I guess we've both been busy," he said, not sure what she was getting at.

"Tomorrow night, we're going to dinner," Jennifer said, her fingers still stroking above his ear. Rodney stopped himself from saying that he had a webcom meeting scheduled with a collaborator in Australia, but she knew something was up from the way he went still. She always did. "What?" She sounded tense and resigned at once.

"I'll cancel it," he said. 

She pulled her hand back, clasping both over her chest. "You don't have to."

Rodney put the laptop on the bedside table, took off his glasses, and turned toward her. "I'll cancel it," he said, reaching out for her shoulder, and leaning in to kiss her cheek. 

***

Three days later, Rodney tried to sound casual as he asked around a bite of toast, "You hear anything from Lam?" He'd been trying to be patient.

Jennifer turned around in from the counter, coffee pot in hand. She leaned over and filled Rodney's cup. "About what?"

Rodney stopped himself from snapping at her, and just said, "Sheppard. Any idea what's wrong with him."

Jennifer replaced the coffee pot and sat down with her own cup before answering. "She won't exactly say. Something from back there. There isn't anything she can do, and it's progressing."

Rodney felt blank. "How fast?"

"Not weeks or months. Maybe next year. They don't think they've seen anything like it, and she's not sure what it is. Prognosis is kind of hard with something you've never seen."

Rodney shook his head. "Wait, they have all of Secured Medical. Ancient Databases. What do you mean they don't know?"

"She wouldn't say much. I don't have the clearances any more. Cover story is Parkinson's. Any luck narrowing down where he is?"

"She wouldn't tell you that either, huh?"

Jennifer shook her head. "You're pretty worried, huh?"

Rodney looked up, wondering what his face had been giving away. The absence of John Sheppard hadn't left a sudden hole, but a growing one. The longer Rodney went without any idea of how he was, without hearing his voice, the more Rodney felt it. He looked down again. "Yes."

"Any luck finding him?"

"I've narrowed it down."

"Getting any other work done?"

"Oh, sure. I'm mostly using bots."

"What are you going to do when you find him?"

Rodney couldn't answer the question. He got up from the table, crammed the rest of the toast in his mouth, and kissed her with crumbs on his way out.

"Rodney?" Jennifer's voice stopped him. "You remember I'm flying out tomorrow, right?"

"Right. Somewhere in Africa again?"

"Back to Somalia."

"Right. I'll, uh, make sure I'm home for dinner. I'll make you something nice. I bet you can't get Italian there."

***

Rodney stared at his Skype list, trying to will John Sheppard's name to appear. After a moment, he called Radek. When the skype box came to life, there was a vague image of a bookshelf, and then Radek sat down, his face coming into monochrome, 3-D relief. "To what do I owe the pleasure this time?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to catch up. How are things there?"

"The usual. Yourself?"s

"Jennifer's off in Africa."

"I see. So, what is on your mind?"

"Not much. Just, you know..."

"I do not know, Rodney, and they do not pay me to entertain you, but while you're here, I will send you a link where you can look at something we've been working on. We will talk about that."

"Ah, so you do miss my brilliance!"

"Hah," said Radek, his image looking down as he typed. "Sending message now. This is not a secure project. I would not mind your help on one of those, but it is not permissible."

"Well, let's see what I can solve for you today." 

It took only about 10 minutes. Rodney knew he should have felt better about Radek asking him for help, and he let himself gloat when he saw the step that Radek had missed. It was good working with him again, but it wasn't like talking with John. 

Radek sighed, nodded with satisfaction, and then surprised Rodney by asking, "Why did you leave?"

"I--" He stopped. The answer was too complicated. Being recalled from Atlantis, IOA politics, the lack of Wraith threat. Jennifer's desires. The IOA wouldn't let her create Medicines Sans Frontiers on a galactic scale. "I needed to do something different," Rodney said, and cloaked himself in arrogance. "I wanted a bigger stage, maybe. No Nobels in Pegasus."

"Have you been asked to submit your credentials, yet?" Radek asked, his voice dry.

Rodney looked out at his lab, an entire floor of machinery, viswalls, projection boxes and trainees. "Not yet. I could just recreate something Ancient, but then it wouldn't be _my_ Nobel, would it?"

***

"You call me twice in two weeks?" Radek's Skype image raised its eyebrows. "I assume Jennifer is not yet back."

"No," Rodney said, "but I wanted to get your advice on something. That student, Washington, and that project."

"You have not told me these things before, Rodney. I do not know who you mean."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Of course Radek had no idea. "I usually..."

"I assume you want continue your conversations with General Sheppard. I suppose I can substitute."

"I'm sorry, Radek." 

"Yes, well, if it leads to solutions like last week, I will pretend to be General Sheppard."

Rodney swallowed. "Thanks."

"He once told me he would hang up on you when you started to rant. I may do the same." Radek's image smiled at Rodney's noise of protest, but Rodney couldn't deny it.

***

"Hey, how are you?" Jennifer was mostly voice and blur. Even with satellite, Skype level 3-D video was not working well. 

"Fine. The usual. How are things there?"

"Lots of stories to tell when I get back," she said. It was code for her not having any privacy to bitch. "Any luck on your search?"

"Narrowed it down."

"What will you do when you find him?"

Rodney paused. "I don't know." But he did know. He'd already put in a call to the University of California at Santa Barbara to arrange a sabbatical or some other visiting professor status.

***

Rodney pulled at the bow tie, and stopped when Jennifer glared at him. It was her night, and he knew how pleased and embarrassed she was to be honored at a fund raiser. For her, it was all about getting resources for the work she did. When they called her name, she went up the steps to the stage. Rodney blinked, part of him still not believing how lucky he was. She was slender still, and the deep blue fabric of the gown moved in ways he was sure violated gravity. Her hair was sun-streaked over the gray that she said only he knew was there, and her face tanned, older, ageless. He swallowed, listening to the silver-haired matron practically nominating Jennifer for sainthood. He wasn't sure he disagreed, and it was hard to live up to.

"Quite the woman, your wife," said an accented voice. It was Paulo Stassi, the new chemistry professor. They'd sat next to each other at the last faculty senate meeting, and Rodney caught him up on university politics while trying not to look at him. Rodney didn't usually let himself think about whether men were attractive or not, but Dr. Stassi didn't give him much of a choice. He'd come by Rodney's office a few days later, and leaned against the doorframe in a way that Rodney couldn't ignore, bringing with him an interesting instrumentation problem. Rodney had solved it with something he'd learned years before from an Ancient device. Stassi insisted on buying them both coffee, and to his surprise, Rodney found him to be not an idiot, and funny. Stassi said, "Her work takes her away for long times, does it not?"

Rodney looked. Dr. Stassi wore something black that managed to be tasteful, but cling to his lanky form--his usual fashion, just more formal. Rodney wasn't sure how his female students could ever concentrate, or even the male ones. "Yes, it does," he said, feeling stupid. 

"Perhaps sometime when she is away, you will show me Chicago? I have not had much time to get out, with the work setting up my laboratory." If Rodney wasn't wrong, Stassi was making a pass.

He felt himself step away, looking back to the stage where the matron was handing Jennifer a plaque, and Jennifer was smiling in the way that only he knew was fake and forebearing. She was hating this. Rodney felt a hand on his arm. He looked to see Dr. Stassi, a knowing smile on his face.

"I see. Coffee sometime again perhaps," He said, and stepped away, trailing his fingers. "I enjoy intelligent conversation."

Rodney blew out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, feeling like he'd dodged a bullet. He walked closer to the stage, where he could take Jennifer's hand when she came down the steps. "Can we get out of here yet?" 

"I think I'm obliged for thirty more minutes, and then I'm getting out of this monkey suit," she said through her fixed smile.

"I think that's my line," Rodney said. "And you look lovely in that monkey suit. T minus twenty-nine and counting. Can I get you more champagne?"

"God, please. I feel like I'm at the prom. Want to get drunk and make out in the car?"

He smiled at her. "Actually, yes."

Rodney fetched glasses from waiter with a tray, and when he handed one to Jennifer she asked, "Who's long, tall and handsome over there? I saw him chatting you up."

Rodney looked. Stassi was talking to Emily MacKenzie, the department chair. "New guy in chemistry."

She elbowed him. "Looked interested in you. Awfully good looking."

Rodney looked at her. She was teasing him, not jealous. "I--" He blushed, not quite able to answer. 

"Oh, come on, Rodney, I sleep with you. I bought everything in our toy box. You're, like, the fifty-eight-year-old bi-curious virgin." She raised her eyebrows. "Sort-of virgin." He blushed further, and she laughed. "T minus twenty five?"

"And counting," Rodney said, taking a gulp of champagne. When she was in a mood like this, there was no telling what would happen when they got home. It hadn't happened recently. "Sure we can't shorten the countdown?"

Dr. Stassi came up to them. "Dr. McKay, I just heard you're arranging a sabbatical! Professor MacKenzie says she's been in discussions with the chair at Santa Barbara to be sure he does not try to steal you from us."

"I'm sure Dr. MacKenzie says a great many things," Rodney said, turning red. He had been planning to talk with Jennifer when he could tell whether or not it would work out. When he glanced up, Jennifer was looking at him, not saying anything, but her eyebrows were up.

"But what will you do there?" Stassi asked.

"Think," Rodney said, feeling himself turn redder under Jennifer's stare. "There's the Kavli Institute for Theoretical Physics. I'll be visiting there to develop, um, models for empirical testing when I come back." He swallowed. "If it works out that I go, I mean."

Dr. Stassi turned to Jennifer. "And what will you do in Santa Barbara?"

"I'm sure I'll find something," Jennifer answered. "I do travel a bit, so it doesn't quite matter where I live."

Rodney heard too much emphasis on _doesn't quite matter_ , but before he could figure out what it meant, Dr. Stassi was talking again.

"But you have a practice here at one of the hospitals, too, no?"

Rodney couldn't believe Stassi knew that much about his wife. Jennifer was already saying, "I'm sure I can find work, but if it's just a sabbatical, it might not be worth getting a license. Maybe I'll take up surfing while Rodney is _thinking_."

The irony in her voice was not lost on Rodney, nor the surfing reference. Jennifer made her excuses, and didn't speak to him for the rest of the evening. In fact, she mingled brilliantly for the next two, excruciating hours.

There was no making out in the car. He started to say, "I've been planning to talk to you about it," but she cut him off with a raised hand. They drove home silently, and Rodney forgot to pretend that the snow flying past was really the strange views in hyperspace. When he woke up in the morning, Jennifer had already gone to work at the hospital. At least he thought so, because only her briefcase was gone.

***

Rodney couldn't stay in the lab, and he didn't want to go home. He sat in a coffee shop with his computer for couple of hours, but he couldn't concentrate. Everything he'd been doing over the last few months, ever since he found out where John was, had led up to something he hadn't let himself think about. Despite all the planning, Rodney hadn't quite let himself realize he was going to John. He hadn't talked with John, or tried to contact him, just quietly made arrangements for a position at UCSB. Rodney didn't even have a place to stay, and he was due on campus for the summer term.

Somehow he also hadn't let himself realize that it all meant that he was leaving Jennifer.

He had faced the Wraith. He could face his wife. He got up from the chair slowly, giving his joints time to catch up after having sat still for most of two hours, and made his way to the El station to catch the new mag-lev home.

She was already there, sitting at the table. Rodney remembered putting the thing together after she bought out half of IKEA in response to his fit of, _Look, can you just go to Nordstrom and pay them to decide. If you make me look at fabric swatches again..._ He hadn't been able to finish the sentence back then, struck suddenly dumb with the thoughts of how he might weaponize damask, and more mute still with the idea that he didn't need to think about such things any more. 

Rodney studied the table, remembering that moment and too many others like it. Jennifer's revenge for the Nordstrom remark had been for him to spend every night for two months assembling almost everything that now furnished their house. He was pretty sure a skilled surgeon like her could have handled an allen wrench, but she'd made it a project for him and laughed when he complained that it was beneath his considerable skills. He thought about furniture and inappropriate uses for upholstery because he was being chicken shit. That's what Jennifer would call it.

He bit the bullet and sat down opposite her. "I'm going to see John."

"Y'think?" she said. Rodney looked up at that. The crease between her eyebrows was furrowed deep, a sign that she was thinking and worried and far from the tight-lipped anger he'd expected. 

"I'm sorry you found out that way."

"And when were you going to tell me?" There were the tight lips. She was angry.

"I hadn't gotten that far," he admitted.

"You need to see him." She stated it simply, like a diagnosis. 

"It's not just going to be the sabbatical. I think I'm staying. As long as--"

She cut him off with a nod. "It's not like I haven't made you wait for me for months on end." 

"This isn't the same," he said, then shut up, realizing he was digging his hole deeper. "I mean, yes, I waited for you. I missed you when you were gone." He realized he sounded defensive. 

'You sure you weren't off with Dr. Whatshisname in the Armani suit?"

He wasn't sure she was teasing, and the question stung. "I would never! I just worked. A lot." Then a thought struck him. "You didn't, did you?"

"No, Rodney," she said, but his relief was cut short by what she said next, and her anger came through. "I made a choice for you, Rodney. Monogamy is not my native state, but if nineteen years hasn't proven anything to you about me, you haven't been paying attention." 

"I-- You--"

"Polyamory, Rodney. Look it up." He could hear bitterness.

"I know what it means! I'm just a little surprised that you only feel like mentioning this to me now, because it would have made this whole Sheppard thing a bit easier, except that it wouldn't because--"

"How would it make it easier? Could you have handled it if I wanted to date someone?"

Rodney started to say yes, but he knew it would be a lie. "Probably not."

"Have you thought this through? Are you making some grand gesture because he's probably going to die soon? Or would you two eventually have done what he wanted all along?"

"John and I never--"

"I know. But it wasn't because he didn't want to. You didn't understand it then."

"I don't understand it now. It's not like what you're saying. He's my friend." 

"You two were like an old married couple before I even came around."

"Platonic!" Rodney blushed at his own protests. It wasn't like he hadn't wondered, back then. He looked at Jennifer. He couldn't look away. He was pinned like a bug. "It wasn't okay to want that."

She didn't say anything.

"I'm not sure I understand, but," he took a breath and said, "It wasn't until he disappeared that I realized-- I mean, he was just there, always just there, almost every day on Skype, and then he wasn't, and now he's sick and probably dying..." Rodney trailed off. She didn't let him off the hook.

"I'm sorry it took this for you to see it." There was no accusation in her voice. "If this was just about him being a friend, you would have told me you were planning to go." 

He couldn't deny it. "You... you... I didn't exactly, you know, give him up for you. It's not like I had him, or we were, you know, anything."

"You never knew what he wanted." It came out as part question, part confirmation of something she already suspected.

"I didn't even know he was gay!" 

"You're probably the only one," Jennifer said, a hint of her usual self coming through. "Some genius." 

Rodney felt like he didn't know anything. He'd spent a lot of his marriage frustrated that people couldn't be solved by equations, and now he was his own biggest variable. "I... I can't just let him die alone." 

"It's more than that, right?" Rodney nodded, feeling himself blush. Jennifer laughed, an edge of bitterness. "Your favorite toy is a bit of a clue."

He could feel the blush deepen, unable to shake the sense of shame that came with her realizing he'd probably been cheating on her in his fantasies. "Jennifer, please. It's not that." At her look he added, "Not just that. It's him. He disappeared and I can't... I mean, I miss him. "

"Rodney," she said, and he could hear things in her voice that suddenly humbled him--love under the anger. After almost 20 years, he was still amazed that she married him. She looked both sardonic and tired. "I've invested too much in civilizing you. You can probably come back when it's over, if you want to--we'll see--but things may be different when you come back. I won't promise you'll be the only one."

"Jennifer..." Rodney could hear the desperation in his own voice. He loved her. He was telling her that after all these years, John Sheppard mattered more. The uncalculable thing was that she was framing their years together in a way he could not comprehend, showing him he hadn't accounted for anywhere near all the variables.

"Pack. Go. Let me know how he's doing. They won't tell me." She said 'they' with the kind of inflection that meant Stargate Command.

She got up, leaned over, and pulled his hiptop from the holster. She tapped a few keys, and he looked to see an itinerary dipsplayed. "Your flight's at eight." She retreated into practicality, all surgeon and efficient. "You'll get into LAX late enough by your body clock that I don't want you driving at night, so I made a reservation at the airport hotel. You can pick up a car in the morning and head up to Santa Barbara. Come on. You've got four hours before you have to leave for O'Hare."

He spent one of them making love to her. He was surprised she let him. 

***

"You have arrived at your destination." The voice in the GPS system sounded final. Rodney looked at the bungalow, then turned off the car and stepped out. He could hear the ocean on the other side of the house, and it took just the sound of breakers, the smell of salt in the wind, to bring up memories that were almost more than he could bear. There was a reason he'd moved to Chicago, and sometimes even the great lake was too much water. 

He hoped this was the right place. He had traced the buyer back to a company that was a shell for a company that did quiet government work, and he was pretty sure this was where he'd find John.

An older-model truck was in the driveway, hybrid gasoline rather than fuel cell electric. It was parked behind a steel-gray two-seater adorned with the drop symbol of a petroleum-only motor. From under the shadows of the car port Rodney could only identify the make of the small car as _fast_. He wondered if they both belonged to John.

The need to escape the smell of the sea was the only thing that brought him over his mental activation barrier and up the walkway. He knocked, looking through an old-fashioned screen door into a sparsely furnished room that opened on the back side with large windows overlooking the beach. A young man appeared from the hallway wearing jeans and the shirt from a set of scrubs. Rodney's first panicked thought was that Sheppard had some young boy-toy, and it would be a good idea to just turn and go, but the man said, "May I help you, sir?"

The inflection sounded military, and a bit forbidding, guarding. Medic, then, and not boy friend? Was Sheppard so sick that he needed a live-in nurse? So dangerous that he needed watching? Rodney tried to make out the name of the hospital printed along one side of the V neck, but between his fading eyesight and the mesh of the screen, he couldn't read it. A tell-tale chain ended in a bump of dog tags that stood out just under the V.

"I've come to see General Sheppard."

"Sir, I believe you have the wrong address."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'm Dr. Rodney McKay." His name seemed to have an effect on the young soldier. "Come on, open up," he snapped both voice and fingers, his nerves channeling into impatience.

"Identification, please, sir. You can hold it up to the door."

Rodney huffed, but he complied. The man picked up a device from somewhere out of sight next to the door. It looked enough like a flashlight to fool someone else, maybe, but Rodney knew it was something much more sophisticated, based on technology they'd discovered in Atlantis. The blueish light played over both the ID and Rodney's skin, verifying the card and Rodney at the same time.

The soldier/nurse stepped back from the door. "Please wait." He disappeared down the hall, and left Rodney for nearly five minutes. It was enough time for Rodney to email Sam Carter from his hiptop that she'd better let him in, message Jennifer that he was being held up by more military BS, and check his bookmark on Google Earth again to make sure this really was the right place.

The young man came back. "Please, step inside, with General Carter's compliments. Close the screen door behind you, and wait for the decontam field." Rodney was already inside by the end of the sentence and was surprised at a purple light, the familiar decontamination field--another Atlantis import making its way out into the world.

"Is he that sick?"

"We're being careful, sir."

"Can I see him?"

"He's out on the back deck. If you haven't seen him in a while, he may seem a bit worse."

"He," came a rough voice from the other side of the house, "can hear you." Rodney looked across the living room and saw the slender outline of John Sheppard, backlit by the bright sun outside. "Corporal Greer, you didn't tell me to expect lunch guests." John walked into the room, his gait slow, overcautious.

Rodney cleared his throat. He was very afraid that John wouldn't want him here at all, much less anything else. "I guess I should have called ahead."

Sheppard stopped. "Rodney?" There was wonder in John's voice.

Rodney took a step forward, and stopped himself. In the light of the room, he could see John better--the sharp lines of collar bones standing out under the T-shirt, the creases on his face that deepened as John's expression moved from shock to mask. John still had a full head of hair, bristled silver and shorter than he used to wear it. Rodney touched his own head, fingers skating through the wisps of hair left on his crown in unconscious comparison. He hadn't been prepared for John to look so thin and so much older. "Yeah, it's, um, me. Is that... Is that okay? Me being here, I mean, because I decided just to surprise you." Rodney knew he was babbling, so he stopped himself with repeating, "Is that okay?"

"Sure, buddy," John said, and in those two words Rodney heard weakness and resignation under false brightness. "How long you planning to stay?"

"I don't know?" Rodney's voice inflected up, questioning more than just his welcome.

John huffed--humor and annoyance--and said, "It's early for lunch. Come back out to the deck." He paused. "Corporal Greer, Dr. Rodney McKay. McKay, Corporal Greer. He keeps me from going over the wall." 

"Clearly a danger," Rodney said, the irony automatic and immediately regretted. 

John made the same mixed noise again, but Greer ignored it. "Sir, if you don't mind, may I have a moment with Dr. McKay?"

John turned toward the big windows, which were sliding glass doors, waving his hand dismissively over his shoulder in a gesture Rodney remembered well, but it lacked the sureness and energy that used to underlie even John's most casual movements. "Brief him." He sounded resigned.

Rodney looked at the corporal. "The cover story I _finally_ got is that it's Parkinson's. What is it?"

"You no longer have the clearances, doctor."

"I don't even know if you have the clearances for me to ask you specific questions!" Greer didn't respond. "All right. What can you tell me."

"His condition manifests with similar symptoms to Parkinson's, in terms of gait changes and tremor, but we can't tell about the cognitive issues. Usually, most times we've decided there's a deficit, he proves us wrong."

"Sounds like him. So the decontam field? And why is he out on the deck?"

"The deck is under a force field. Some of his regulatory systems are not functioning properly. It was decided to assume his immune system was compromised, and blood tests support this approach." Greer paused and then added, "This is the most he's said at one time in a few months. He doesn't talk much. It's made it hard to be sure about his cognitive state."

"He's never talked much," Rodney said, watching the last of John's progress toward a raised lounge chair. The chair reminded him eerily of the Ancient command chair, a sense that increased as he watched John lean back. Rodney felt a shadow of memory. He blinked the thought away and looked at Greer. "What do I need to know?" 

"Not too much. Don't help him if he doesn't ask for it. Lunch at noon all right?"

"You cook, too?" 

"Someone has to, sir. There are six of us who share duty, twenty-four-seven."

"That's a lot of resources for one retired General," Rodney said, indicating the door behind him, meaning all the Ancient technology, too.

"It's an honor to serve."

Rodney looked for irony and didn't find it. "I'll just..." He gestured toward the big windows, then walked out to the deck. He perched on the side of a normal lounge chair. "Hi."

"Hi." John didn't turn to face him, just lay back with his eyes closed under the bright sky.

"So, what's really wrong with you?"

"Good to see you too, Rodney." There was a bite in his voice, for all it seemed he was trying to sound sardonic and casual.

Rodney played with his wedding ring for a moment, gathered his courage and said, "I'm sorry. I got very strong hints that you weren't doing so well. Jennifer says none of her old SGC contacts will talk beyond _Parkinson's_ , and she says they say it like they don't mean it."

"Anybody else? Under the mountain in medical. Save the world a few times? Perks." 

Rodney nodded, even though John wasn't looking. "But, what is it?"

John waved a hand, bones on his wrists sticking out. Rodney realized it was the first time he'd ever seen John's wrists bare unless they had to be, like in sick bay or the shower. He wanted to put his fingers around the wrists and cover them for John. They looked wrong. John said, "Probably something from back there." John's voice had that _don't go there_ tone that even Rodney had trouble breaching. "So," John said after a pause, "what brings you to sunny Ventura?" The bite was still under the breezy delivery.

Rodney didn't answer right away because he realized he was afraid. What he had felt in the driveway, wondering if John wouldn't even let him in, was still there, because John hadn't exactly seemed enthusiastic to see him. Added to that was a familiar fear, brought back by the rough tremor in John's voice. Rodney had only heard him sound like that back in the infirmary in Atlantis, cheating death again. He heard an added resignation. This was no injury where John would have to wait out the healing process. "Sabbatical," Rodney said, unable to say much more.

"Here?" John said. 

Rodney answered the question John wasn't asking. "UCSB has the advantage of location."

"Taking up surfing?" 

Even Rodney could tell that John was deflecting, and the mention of surfing made him suddenly aware of the sun. "Got any sunscreen around here?" Rodney heard a soft snort he interpreted as a laugh. "Some of us don't tan, Captain Surfer."

"Don't need it." John raised one forearm off the chair in a gesture toward the sky. "UV-blocking force fields."

"Right. Right," Rodney said, looking away from John's wrist.

They were silent for a few moments. Rodney had no idea what to say, so he leaned his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, one leg bouncing until he noticed the fidget. He stilled himself and sat up, looking at John. Eventually John turned his head slightly, opened one eye and said, "Where's Jennifer?"

"Back in Chicago. I think--" Rodney started, and for the first time in the last 24 hours felt the reality of what had happened. "I sort of left her."

John opened the other eye. "You're not sure?"

"Well, I thought I was," Rodney said. "Leaving, I mean, but she made it clear I could come back, just not to expect there not to be someone else." That wasn't really what he thought about last night's conversation, but he still wasn't sure how to talk about it. He'd just made it sound too easy, and he wasn't sure what he wanted John to think. 

"Huh." John let his eyes close, and his head move back to looking straight up. Rodney was relieved he didn't have to explain.

The silence stretched again. Rodney absently noted how the force field muted the sound of the waves, and wondered if it bothered John, and then he realized he was trying not to think. He had committed to UCSB for a year, teaching one undergraduate and one advanced class, and collaborating with a few colleagues. He had arranged nothing else, neither lodging nor car lease. Now that he was here, he didn't know what he wanted, or what to do.

As if reading his mind, John said, "Where you staying?"

"I'm not sure yet."

There was a pause. "Got a spare room. Want it?"

He did. "Just for a few days, until I find a place."

"Whatever."

"What about your collection of Sgt. Greers?"

"They'll deal." Rodney heard something in John's voice that he hadn't realized was missing. It was the part of John Sheppard that was eternally twelve years old, feeling like he was about to get away with something.

Rodney felt his own nerves melt. He sat back for a few minutes, and John seemed to fall asleep, his face smoothing under the filtered sunlight. Rodney got up, and Greer appeared from somewhere when he stepped into the house.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm just going to get my things. General Sheppard has offered me the spare bedroom."

Greer froze momentarily, something Rodney wouldn't have noticed twenty years ago. "It's very small, sir." 

"I'm sure I and my ego will fit."

"For how long?"

"As long as he wants me to." Rodney used the tone he reserved for relatively bright students who weren't seeing something obvious, even though this wasn't what he had told John. If he could, he would stay right here. "Don't worry. I can shop. The Air Force won't have to buy my groceries."

"Understood." 

From the way Greer said it, a shade of longsuffering under the military neutrality, Rodney wondered if there was an order to indulge the general. "So," Rodney said, "is there anything special about coming and going? I need to go get my things."

"We'll need to decontam the objects in your bags, sir."

No way did Rodney want to zap his skivvies in front of the sergeant. "Can you trust that I know how these things operate, since my team reverse engineered them, and that I'll make sure everything is done?"

"His safety is my duty, sir."

Rodney heard the polite, military _No._ Fine. Sgt. Greer could make what he wanted out of Rodney's collection of novelty boxers. Jennifer had bought most of them anyway, just to find out if there was anything outrageous enough that he wouldn't wear it. There wasn't.

He got his suitcases, opened them and flayed out the clothing, knowing just how many layers deep the de-contam field would work, and slid them across the floor through the door. Next he emptied his briefcase, with the printouts he'd made for reading on the plane, and his palm- and laptop computers. Greer waited stone-faced while Rodney got everything re-packed enough to carry down the hall, and showed him a tiny bedroom with a single bed. It was smaller than his quarters on Atlantis. 

He didn't spend much time settling in, just piling the bags on the bed and top of the small dresser. He picked up his laptop, and went back out to the deck where Sheppard was sleeping. Rodney stared at him a long while before sitting in the other chair, and opened his computer to work. It had been easy to concentrate on the plane; he didn't let himself think about where he was going. Here, with the muted sound of the waves and breeze, the bright sun, he could think of little but John Sheppard in the next chair, frailty disguised by sleep.

Eventually physics saved him, as it often did, and John's presence become something old and familiar. Rodney talked aloud as he worked, occasional comments he only ever made while someone else was in the room, questions he asked John, not expecting an answer, and not getting one. He was surprised when Sgt. Greer came out to the porch and said, "Sir?" Rodney looked up. Sheppard's head had been facing his direction, but now he turned toward the voice without opening his eyes. Greer said, "Lunch is ready, sir." 

When Sheppard didn't respond, Greer stepped toward him, and Rodney asked, "Do you need to wake him?" He had a moment of realizing he didn't want to wreck the illusion of working with John in the room, like old times. It was better than Skype, even if John was asleep.

Greer's impatience came through. "He needs to eat, Doctor, and we like to keep him on a routine."

"I'll get up," said John, raising an arm to wave Greer away. He pressed a button on the chair, and it sat him up, also raising higher so he could get out of it. He shifted to move his feet to the floor, facing Rodney rather than the door. Rodney closed his laptop, not sure what to do and remembering Greer's reminder not to help John. John didn't move to get up. His body faced Rodney, but he looked over his shoulder at the ocean. "What are you doing here?"

Rodney felt his body tighten, the fear coming back. "You're my best friend. You disappeared. Of course I'm going to find you. We don't leave people behind, remember?" Rodney was shocked to hear it come out of his mouth, but it felt like the truth.

John didn't move. "I didn't think about that."

"Funny. _You_ taught me that."

"You left Jennifer."

"Maybe."

"Like being a little bit pregnant?" John's lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

"She... I don't know," Rodney said. "She said she was polyamorous. I never knew."

"Big word, McKay."

"It means loving many. I guess some people took Heinlein a little too seriously."

"I know what it means. So. What? Open marriage?"

Rodney shook his head. "Not until now, and I don't know. I just... I had to find you."

"So you said." John's voice sounded a bit more sure, fueled by a sardonic tone that fed into Rodney's fear.

"I can leave. I'm sorry. I didn't think about whether you might want to see me." Now that he had voiced it, Rodney was ready for John to tell him to go, and desperately hoping John would want him to stay. "You didn't even say goodbye. I haven't been that scared since you rode a nuke, or that time--"

"I didn't," John interrupted.

It startled Rodney. "Didn't what? Ride a nuclear bomb? You can't deny it, because it was just as good as."

"I didn't want to see you." Rodney's mouth dropped open. "I mean, I didn't want you to see me. Not like this."

"Oh, for crying out loud, I've seen you turn into a _bug_. You watched me turn into a drooling idiot. What can I see that's worse than anything we went through together?"

John finally turned to Rodney. He lifted a hand from where he had been gripping the side of the chair. It trembled. John looked down at it for a moment, and turned his hand over to look at the palm. Rodney thought he could see the shapes of John's hand bones through the palm, and that was just completely wrong--almost as wrong as the bare wrist. Rodney put the laptop aside and reached out, giving in to the urge to circle John's wrist with his fingers. He could feel the tremors, but he couldn't see John's hand shaking any more. John turned his wrist within the circle of Rodney's fingers and grasped Rodney's forearm, using it to pull himself up out of the chair. He looked at Rodney and didn't let go, moving one foot back as if to brace himself for the effort of pulling Rodney up. 

Rodney thought that if he put much of his weight on John, he'd pull him over, and if he didn't put any, it would be insulting. He needed help anyway, and trusted John to know his limits. John faltered a bit as Rodney stood, even with Rodney taking most of his own weight, but that was all. When he was on his feet, John didn't let go of Rodney's arm. "Thanks, buddy," he said, his voice sounding rougher with something added to the weakness Rodney had heard before. "Glad you're here."

It felt like John was admitting something, and both the words and the tone made Rodney put his other arm around John, pulling him carefully close. He slid the arm John was holding down to John's waist, not letting John's stiffness stop him. He held him for a long moment, realizing just how thin John had become, nothing but bones and sinew under the T-shirt. Eventually John relaxed a little, but the tension seemed more wary than reserved. Rodney said, "I got you. I won't let you fall."

It took a few more long moments before John leaned on him, letting Rodney take some of his weight. It lasted several long moments before Rodney heard Greer clearing his throat at the open glass door. John didn't move, and Rodney took his cue from that, moving one hand up to run through John's spikey hair. John finally raised his hands, placing them on Rodney's back, moving slowly.

"You're here." John said into Rodney's neck.

"Long as you want me to be." There was another long pause, their only movement the slow, constrained caresses of Rodney's hand in John's hair, John's hands on Rodney's back. 

Eventually John pulled back a little, and only in its absence did Rodney realize he'd been feeling the beginnings of John's erection. John reddened and turned away to walk around the chair to the open door, where Greer was no longer standing. He said, haltingly, "Like a friend loves another friend."

It was statement and question. It needed an answer. "That, too," Rodney said, "or if that's all you want."

Sheppard froze, although his lack of directed movement started the tremor in his hands again. "Jennifer," he said.

Rodney swallowed, unsure of how to say it. "She... She was ready for this, I think. She said I chose her once. I could choose you now. If you want to be chosen, that is. I mean--" Rodney halted as John threw back his head and laughed. "What? What?!"

"Do I really _have_ a choice, Rodney?" John looked at him without turning his head, almost making the same effect of the ironic head tilt from the old days.

Rodney lifted his chin. "No, I don't suppose you do."

John's mouth lifted in a small smile, and Rodney hung back, letting John go through the door and into the dining area off the kitchen. There were sandwiches, iced tea, and sliced fruit on the table. Greer was nowhere to be seen.

Rodney was hungry and grabbed a sandwich and a spoon full of the cut fruit. He passed the bowl to John, and noted that it dipped when John took its weight, as if it were almost too heavy for him. He said nothing, eating his sandwich until John asked, "So, what are you working on these days that you can do from Santa Barbara?"

Because of Greer's comment about mental state, Rodney launched into his usual layman's summary, the kind he used at Jennifer's social events where the dinner companions were mostly doctors. John started questioning him for details. "This is Chris Washington's project, right? If I recall..." And they were soon deep into the math of astrophysics. Rodney didn't notice until Greer took the plates that he'd finished his sandwich. 

"Doctor, if you'd like to get settled in, it's time for the general's PT session."

"Oh, sure," Rodney said, as John said, "That late?" Rodney looked at his watch. They'd been at the table for two hours, and Rodney's paper napkin was covered in equations and diagrams.

He spent some time organizing his new room. It didn't take long, but he didn't want to go out while John was having PT, and possibly embarrass him. He had an email from Samantha Carter.

`McKay, I realize you never became a US citizen, but could you please not play around with the Official Secrets act? I don't suppose you'll tell me who let the cat out of the bag?` Rodney wrote back, `I mined public records, General Carter. Need I remind you? Genius here.`

He sat sideways on the bed, and leaned against the wall with his computer on his lap. Despite immersing himself in work, it didn't take long for the position to start bothering his back. He heard noises in the hall, and after it was quiet again, he took his computer out in search of a more comfortable chair. 

John was nowhere to be found. Greer came out of the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'd like some water, but I can get it myself, unless the kitchen is a no-go zone."

Greer's mouth twitched. It might have been a smile, and his attitude toward Rodney seemed to have changed. "Help yourself, although Tolliver has definite ideas on where things need to go."

"Thanks for the warning," Rodney said. "Where's General Sheppard?"

"Asleep," Greer answered. He watched Rodney search through the kitchen to get himself a glass, then ice and water from the fridge door. "Sir, you need to know that we keep logs on the general."

Rodney wasn't sure where this was going. "Vitals, all that?"

"Everything. Social interaction, too."

"And?" Rodney said, suddenly irritated. "Your military's old _don't ask_ idiocy was struck down by international human rights law a decade ago."

Greer seemed surprised. "I'm sorry? That's not... No. It's just that he's talked more since you came than we usually hear in a month. And lunch left no doubt as to his cognitive abilities."

Rodney's irritation turned protective and sarcastic at once. "You've been _boring_ him. All this sun and surf, and waiting on him? Boring. No more. Not while Rodney McKay is around." 

Rodney walked out to the deck without bothering to wait for an answer. He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a text message to Jennifer. `thank you`. He looked over to John's automatic deck chair, to the place where they had stood together, holding on, John's autonomic reflex leaving no doubt what he might want with Rodney. Twenty or so years ago, Rodney would have botched a situation like this and never known why. So far, he hadn't done anything too stupid, and he knew the difference between now and then. He looked back down at his phone and sent another text to Jennifer: `no, really, I'm sorry, & I'm not, & thank you`.

He sat down to work, and it was over an hour before Jennifer replied. `U need 2 b there`

It wasn't a question. Rodney could imagine her expression, and it mirrored his own feelings--acceptance, and sadness. He texted back immediately, `Y ILU`

`U O me`

`Y`

"Thank you," he said aloud. He was talking to the universe.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Hermit Shale** \- This layer is composed of soft, easily eroded shales which have formed a slope. As the shales erode they undermine the layers sandstone and limestone layers above which causes huge blocks to fall off and into the lower reaches of the Grand Canyon.


End file.
